


taste freedom (as you fill your lungs with air)

by madnessiseverything



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: :), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Soul Bond, absolutely minimally, but to be safe, jonah magnus fuck off challenge, martin outsmarts a fear avatar: the third, post - 159, this was written in one go, unbetad because im impatient, you guys remember gertrude talking about that soulbond ritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: “You’ve lost, Jonah,” Martin says in response, and it sounds like a mockery. “Admit it.” There is a smile on Martin’s face and Jon wonders if he can hear the litany of ‘I love you, I love you’ rushing through Jon’s mind. Jon knows he hasn’t said it out loud, has felt the words die on his tongue many moments before they crashed back into the panopticon. He desperately hopes Martin knows.or the one where Martin performs a ritual.





	taste freedom (as you fill your lungs with air)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i've been thinking about the soulbonding ritual ever since we heard gertrude talk about it and today, while anxiously vibrating about the finale, i was gripped with a sudden need to finally write something about it. this was written in one go and only looked over by me once so if there's mistakes, feel free to lmk so i can edit them! 
> 
> title from home by amarante (because i'm not over "come on. let's go home.")

There is a sharp pain in Jon’s chest. It flashes hot-cold-freezing-hot and he finds himself doubled over on the floor of the panopticon, Jonah’s long-winded words trailing off. The Watcher laughs, undoubtedly taken aback.   
  
“Well. This comes as a surprise.”   
  
From a few feet away, Jon hears Martin exhale sharply and at once Knows that the same pain is lacing through Martin, but that instead of curling up he is looking up, determined eyes fixed onto Jonah. Jon feels the pressure of Martin’s hand, coated in blood, digging into the stone floor.   
  
Hot tears start their way down Jon’s face and he wonders how many more surprises one Martin Blackwood has hidden away. God, he wants to _know. _  
  
Martin’s voice is sharp, pressed through clenched teeth. “Thought you’d be used to those by now.”   
  
The pain travels down Jon’s arm into his hands and he sobs. He can’t see, he realises, the ocean within his head suddenly overwhelmingly quiet, distant. Instead, there is fog and spider silk and _Martin_, defiant, clever, calculating Martin. Jon’s breath rattles in his lungs and he knows that his hands mirror Martin’s.   
  
“Clever,” Jonah says and there is a strain. Jon’s vision is blurred, but he tilts his head and finds Jonah’s clenched fist. Jon smiles through the pain. “Using the Lonely despite everything, I see.”   
  
Martin laughs, bitter and sharp enough to draw blood. “I worked with the tools I had.”   
  
Jon knows what’s happening, feels the memory of Gertrude Robinson’s words come in an entirely natural way. He doesn’t _Know_ but he remembers her story of a ritual, of utter agony, of a tie to humanity. Jon cries harder.   
  
“Brat,” Jonah spits and Jon knows that it worked, even as the pain continues. “You have no idea what you interfered with.”   
  
“Nobody knows what they’re doing,” Martin responds with fire. “You are all just - just stumbling around, trying to replicate a tune nobody has ever heard. Don’t try to tell me that _I’m_ the one that doesn’t understand!”   
  
Jonah stares down at Martin and Martin stares back and Jon thinks ‘_I love you, I love you, be safe, I trust you, please_’. Martin is clear in the blurred world, his shaking form the only point of clarity. Jon latches onto the sight and breathes.   
  
“You’ve done nothing but delay the inevitable,” Jonah sighs, but Jon can hear the held back anger, can feel how the calm of an ocean that before had pressed against the creaking door in his mind with its storm, knows that it’s done.   
  
“You’ve lost, Jonah,” Martin says in response, and it sounds like a mockery. “Admit it.” There is a smile on Martin’s face and Jon wonders if he can hear the litany of ‘_I love you, I love you_’ rushing through Jon’s mind. Jon knows he hasn’t said it out loud, has felt the words die on his tongue many moments before they crashed back into the panopticon. He desperately hopes Martin knows. More tears and a new sort of pain come at the realisation that now he will have time to find his voice and learn how to say it.   
  
Jonah’s clenched fist is shaking. “This isn’t over.” His voice is measured, but the hatred drips from every word like poison. Slowly, the polished dress shoes move out of Jon’s sight. He doesn’t turn his head to follow the vessel of Jonah Magnus down the stairs. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”  
  
The sound of disappearing steps is undercut by a dry sob and all at once Martin collapses. His bloodied palm comes away from the floor and their shared pain leaves all at once. Jon sways in the absence of it. The knife clatters to the ground.   
  
Jon crawls on all fours, blinking rapidly to clear his vision of the remainders of tears. His hands find Martin’s, shaking against the cold stone floor. Martin’s eyes are screwed shut, tears staining his face. “Hey,” Jon whispers and picks up Martin’s uninjured hand. He holds it against his chest, presses a kiss against the back. “You did it.”   
  
Martin lets out a short, wet laugh and squeezes Jon’s hand. Slowly, his eyes blink open and find Jon’s. Jon could cry all over again as he watches Martin’s features soften. “Hey,” Martin says and Jon hauls him up into a hug. Their hands are pressed awkwardly between their chests and Martin hisses as he winds his free arm around Jon’s back, but neither of them move.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Martin whispers into the silence eventually. Jon pulls back, searches Martin’s face for meaning.   
  
“Why?” He asks, when he can find none. Martin smiles weakly and brushes the back of his injured hand over Jon’s cheek.   
  
“I didn’t warn you.” Martin looks down at their joined hands. “I should’ve- said something, or told you of-”  
  
“Hey, hey, hey, Martin.” Jon unlaces their joined hands to frame Martin’s face, using his thumbs to wipe away stray tears. Martin’s forehead meets his. “It’s okay. You did what you had to.” _Just say it_, he thinks, bites down on his tongue. _It can’t be that hard. _“I trust you.”   
  
Martin nods minutely, inhales deeply. “Okay. I’m sorry it hurt so much, I didn’t-” Martin chuckles. “I didn’t think it would be that bad.”  
  
Jon doesn’t know how to say that he would suffer the same pain a thousand times over if it meant he could keep holding onto Martin. “I’ve had worse,” he jokes instead, before wincing. Martin’s shoulders tense and Jon rushes to amend it. “It’s okay, really.” Takes a breath, steels himself. “Anything is better than losing you.”   
  
Martin’s eyes are full of fresh tears. “Thank you for- for coming for me,” he whispers, voice shaky. Jon smiles at him and hopes that all the words he wants to say show on his face.   
  
“Of course,” he says, because he has to say _something_, anything to let Martin know his worth. “Thank you for doing what I couldn’t.” He knows he would have followed Jonah were it not for Martin.  
  
“Teamwork,” Martin says with a soft laugh full of relieved tears and Jon can feel the well of emotions overflowing again. He pulls Martin closer once more, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder.   
  
“Fuck,” he says, muffled by Martin’s jacket. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”  
  
Martin doesn’t respond for a while, but his grip tightens and Jon doesn’t stop the new tears spilling over his cheeks. They’re alive, he tells himself. They’re together. And now there is something new, an echo to his heartbeat that wasn’t there before. Jon can’t wait to find out what it means.   
  
“Me too,” Martin says finally. “This is better.” The conviction makes Jon’s heart skip. “Much better.” Martin sighs and shifts in Jon’s arms. “We should get out of here.”   
  
Jon thinks about the chaos up above, about all the danger ready to tear them apart again. “Yeah,” he says, thinks of Basira, of Daisy. Thinks about Trevor and Julia and the Not-Them. “We should probably take the knife.”   
  
Martin pulls back and shakes himself. “Yeah.” He pushes to his feet, uninjured hand reaching down to pull Jon up. Jon tries and fails not to focus on the way Martin doesn’t let go of his hand. He catalogues the way Martin laces their fingers together as he bends down to pick up the knife. There is so much he wants to - no, _has_ to say. But the worry for Basira and Daisy has settled into his bones. They will have time later. Jon refuses to believe otherwise. They will talk later, once this is all over. They will sit down, breathe, talk, and he will find a way to say those words he really, really needs Martin to hear.  
  
“Come on,” Martin says, with a smile over his shoulder. “I remember the way.” 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://extinctioniscoming.tumblr.com) and on [twitter](https://twitter.com/notanycritter). please come scream and cry with me over the absolute beauty of these two.


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